Wednesday May 27, 2009 11:18 am

Dating Diary: War Stories

The culprit: College boyfriend.Time of death: 2 years in.Cause: The ex cheated on me with his Swedish ex.Reaction: Broken heart, 7 straight days of crying and excessive IKEA meatballs binging, which resulted in looking like a swollen puff of lard.Cure: Hooking up with his sexy Israeli best friend, followed with 6 months of serious playing of the field.Lesson learned: Make sure your boyfriend does not have a skanky Swedish ex who is still obsessed with him. IKEA meatballs can make you look like lard.

The Musician

The culprit: Delicious (and juicy) musician living in LA. Yup, this one was long distance.Time of death: About 7 months in.Cause: Distance equals death.Reaction: Three days of crying, became obsessed with reading his lovely love letters, and Jeff Buckley, and oh, immediate brutal hate of Los Angeles.Cure: Immediately dating someone who lives two blocks away, realizing that distance IS death, and happy long-distance-free phone bills.Lesson learned: Umm, DISTANCE IS DEATH. Also, your roommates don’t like it when all you do is either make pukey lovey dovey noises or cry over the phone. And, oh yeah, LA still sucks.

The Scary Older Dude

The culprit: Older dude, worked in construction, lived two blocks from my apartment.Time of death: 6 months in.Cause: He seriously hated my friends (“If I ever see their stupid faces again…”). Yes, most of them do have stupid faces, but that’s not their fault. This time I did the dumping, over the phone, and after moving to a new apartment.(His) reaction: Failed suicide attempt involving many many Xanaxes, followed by serious stalking, threatening, and following me to work. And oh, an unsolicited present of a god damn it gorgeous Chloe bag.(My) reaction: Scared sh*tless! At the same time patting myself on the back for not telling him where my new apartment was.Cure: It took all of me, but I returned that exquisite bag, threatened to call the PoPo, and changed my phone number.Lesson learned: Don’t date crazy people. Oh by the way, he was an ex-drug dealer. Good one, Mia.

The Puppeteer

The culprit: Really hot puppeteer I met at a local Brooklyn bar. Yup, you read right. Puppeteer.Time of death: About 2 or 3 months in. I don’t remember because I blocked it out of my memory.Cause: Oh, he peed my bed. Twice. Like by accident when we were sleeping, not one of those weird fetish things. Then he just kinda disappeared.Reaction: HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! Complete shock. Especially since he disappeared before I could even dump him. Oh my ego! My poor, poor ego.Cure: In this case, the break up was really the cure, because dude, a bedwetter at 29? *shudder*Lesson learned: Grown men who make puppets and play with them for a living don’t know how to differentiate beds from toilets. Not good boyfriend material.

The Writer

The culprit: Super smokin’ writer/graphic designer. He also did Capoeira. *swoon*Time of death: Three really fun really intense months in.Cause: He didn’t want to commit.Reaction: This one hurt a lot. Not much crying though, just a whole lotta sadness. We obviously wanted different things, though that wasn’t clear until the time of death. So, ouch.Cure: Weeks of good old fashioned girl talk accompanied by cases of Blue Moon.Lesson learned: Hey, you can’t always get what you want! Just because you see the two of you together long-term, doesn’t mean that he does too. You will one day meet someone who wants the same thing, I did. For a little while anyways *wink*. Hey! I actually like dating, can’t you tell? It’s fun!

So anyways, girly girls and boyish boys, you have now heard/read some of my war stories. Why am I sharing these with you? Well, because I know you like reading about other people’s misery. I know I do. It makes me feel better about myself. Yes, that’s rotten, but who cares.

Now, tell me your war stories. It’s only fair… I mean, I showed you mine.